


Your smile is a challenge (your voice my downfall)

by meinposhbastard



Series: 2019 tropes fic challenge [4]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: All the cuddles, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Aunt May, Blanket Permission, Couch Cuddles, Jealousy, M/M, Misunderstandings, Morning Cuddles, Peter is jealous to be precise, Pining, Possessive Peter, Sleepy Cuddles, ass eating, check my profile for more info, did you read the summary?, what do you mean there's no tag for this?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-28 00:20:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20769386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meinposhbastard/pseuds/meinposhbastard
Summary: “It’s easy to say you’re over someone if you aren’t seeing them. The challenge is to look them in the eye and see their smile and hear their voice and still be able to say ‘I don’t want to eat your ass anymore’.”Or: Peter B. Parker doesn't do things like Spider-Man does.





	Your smile is a challenge (your voice my downfall)

**Author's Note:**

> This was unplanned (I really should stop checking the spideypool discord first thing in the morning). This is the result of a shitpost (which serves as the summary of this fic) posted by [Orange_Coyote](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orange_Coyote/pseuds/Orange_Coyote) on the spideypool server, and which I turned into a prompt out of the blue.  
I also need to thank [TsukiWolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tsukiwolf42/pseuds/Tsukiwolf42), [HeraZ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeraZ/pseuds/HeraZ), and Avery Alvina on Discord for their quick beta and alpha read!
> 
> There's not much of Wade's brand of wit in this, and none of his boxes, mostly because it's from Peter B.'s pov. And that's because I'm running on creative fumes right now so I had no juices or patience left in me to add in Wade's humour. Apologies if that makes him sound OOC.  
Also, this is the first time I'm writing Peter B. in a relationship with DP, so I was mostly interested to see where this character takes me. As you will see-- quite far.

* * *

Peter B. Parker is perched on the corner of the highest building in the area when he hears the light scrunch of familiar boots. Deadpool is not usually this noisy, but he probably does that to alert him and— not trip his spidey sense. As if it works that way.

“Hey there, my ever-vigilant vigilante Spidey.” He jumps over the cement, one handed, and then drops heavily onto it just to peer down at the busy street below.

“Deadpool.”

“Aw, so cold. It’s Wade. Wade Wilson at your service.”

“What’s up?” he asks because if Wade decided to join him, he might as well try to make conversation.

Wade hums. “Free evening. Came to check on you.”

Peter sizes him up, pondering on something that’s been niggling in the back of his mind for some time now. Wade still has to look at Peter. 

“How do you always find me? This roof is inaccessible without climbing the side of the building.”

Even through the mask, Peter can see the wide smile and he might be waggling his eyebrows, but he can’t be sure.

“It’s my own Spidey-focused sense,” he says it like it’s the greatest thing mankind has ever achieved. “I can find you anywhere. With my eyes closed. And my pants on fire.”

Peter snorts. He doubts that, but he leaves it be.

Wade chatters away as per usual, throwing in innuendos any time he can — even when he shouldn’t, and then Peter calls it a night.

* * *

“Peter!” Miles says with excitement as he swivels in his chair. He’s in his own Spider-Man suit, but the mask is nowhere in sight.

“Hey, Miles,” Peter greets as he approaches the center of what became their HQ or hideout as Miles sometimes calls it. It’s just Aunt May’s underground— hobby. She does provide them with gadgets so for all intents and purposes this underground lair is her hobby. The same place where they all met for the first time. “Hello Aunt May.”

“Welcome, Peter,” she says from the work table, back turned.

“How’s school going, Miles? Hope you’re attending regularly. Wouldn’t want to be grounded for skipping in favor of doing hero work.”

Miles groans, head bent back over the seat as he continues to swivel and even roll away from Peter. Aunt May chuckles lightly — and Peter might be wrong — but also darkly from her station on the other side of the platform.

“Not you too,” Miles says from the shadows.

“So Aunt May told you the same.”

“Every. Single. Time I come here.”

“If you come at odd hours of the day or night,” Aunt May quips in a warm voice, still working on— whatever she’s working on. “Then of course you’re going to get lectured.”

“That’s what I have parents for,” Miles gripes, still in the shadows.

“Uh-oh, I think he’s reaching the rebellious age,” Peter mock-whispers as he comes to stand by her side.

“I’m not.”

“The fact that you deny it while sulking in the shadows is a dead giveaway,” Peter quips back and the shadows grumble-mutter something unintelligible.

Peter shakes his head, his fondness for the kid growing. 

“So what are you working on?” he asks Aunt May as he peers over her shoulders to see Miles’ mask.

“There’s a problem with one lense which doesn’t allow his mask to turn invisible,” May explains.

Peter turns a baleful eye on the kid who’s still sulking and ignoring them.

“Have you been fighting, Miles?” He begins, narrowing his gaze. “It’s past 1am and tomorrow’s a school day.”

Miles groans some more. “Tomorrow’s also a bank holiday.”

Peter’s righteous— dad anger? Stern, big brother reprimand? Whatever. It dies in his throat at that. He doesn’t say anything else, but he spies the little upturn of May’s mouth.

“And besides,” Miles quips, and Peter doesn’t have a good feeling about the tone of voice he uses, a bit mocking, a bit miffed, “somebody’s gotta keep this city safe if older, more experienced Spider-Men are too busy dilly-dallying with infamous heroes.”

Peter straightens almost out of reflex. 

“I _ don’t dilly-dally! _ And where did you learn that word from? What are they teaching kids in school these days? And he’s _ not _a hero.”

At that, Miles lifts his head and Peter wonders why he thought it was a good idea to give that much information to someone like Miles. He was supposed to ignore Miles even _ implied _he was hanging out with Wade. Deadpool. Too much familiarity. That’s what got him into this situation, isn’t it?

Aunt May’s shoulders shake lightly at his side.

“Oh, so he’s a villain?” He can see the _ sparkles _in his eyes from across the platform. Peter groans internally. 

“Not a villain,” he stresses because— he needs to stress that detail. It’s important. For some reason.

“His name is Wade Wilson,” May quips as she lifts Miles’ inside out mask closer to the magnifying glass. Peter gawks at her. “And he’s Canadian.”

Peter sputters. “How do you know that?” Even _ he _ didn’t know that and he’s, you know, the one _ who’s been hanging around with the man. _

“Oh, he came by one afternoon not long ago and we chatted over a cup of tea. Lovely man,” she adds idly, pushing back from the table and turning the mask outside in.

“He’s a _ mercenary!” _Peter almost screeches because— because he needs to point that out, okay?

“You said he’s not a villain,” Miles quips.

“He’s not,” he says petulantly. And now he knows how Miles feels when the ‘grown ups’ lecture him. “Why are we discussing this as if it’s fine?”

Aunt May pats his chest with a little smile. “You wouldn’t hang out with him, if you didn’t think he wasn’t a good man.”

And that, more than anything, _ floors _Peter. He watches dumb-founded as she goes to hand Miles his mask. He watches as Miles puts it on and then turns invisible. He watches as Miles hugs her and mutters his thanks. He watches the surprised, yet delighted, look on May’s face as she pats— air.

He watches, but he doesn’t register any of it.

* * *

He’s hauling Wade’s ass over the ledge of his own apartment, both of them falling down inside the silver square of moonlight on Peter’s carpet and groaning. 

“Uh, sorry, Spidey. I’m bleeding all over your carpet,” Wade says, not moving from where his entire left side is touching Peter’s bruised side. “Send me the cleaning bill afterwards.”

Peter snorts. He’s hurting in places he’s never hurt before and he’s fought for _ years _. There’s a warm body pressed to him. He’s in his own apartment. He couldn’t stay tense and on alert if he wanted.

“I don’t think dry cleaning would do the job. Besides, how do I even explain the questionable human-size stain? ‘Hey, so I gotta have this carpet cleaned. Don’t mind the huge stain. I didn’t kill anybody, even if the stain might say something different. Scout’s honor.’” He snorts again.

“Your cat pooped?”

“That’s a big-ass cat I’m having.” His mouth is already quirked, the laugh itching to get out.

“Then dog.” Peter feels him shrug. “Multiple dogs.”

“Who decided unanimously that they’re gonna shit in the shape of a homicide outline.”

“They’re adopted.”

Peter cracks up. And the more he laughs, the harder it is to stop until he’s turning to the side, clutching at his bruised stomach, pressing the stab wound on his arm into the scratchy carpet and feeling tears streaming down his cheeks.

Wade joins him, but Peter’s gasping for air after a while and when he stops and turns on his back to just _ breathe _Wade is looming over Peter. The mask is gone and the nasty wounds on his torso have healed, leaving behind only tender flesh and shredded leather.

His gloved hand touches Wade’s torso and he wishes for the first time that there was no barrier between his fingers and Wade’s skin. It’s with his palm splayed in the center of Wade’ chest that he pushes himself up, his own wounds healing slowly.

“Why did you take off your mask?” he whispers, unable to not let his eyes roam over Wade’s scarred face.

He’s always been— not quite shy about revealing skin in his presence, but not adamant either. Unless he wanted to play the scare part with street thugs. Maybe he’s comforted by the fact that the only source of light in the room is the moon, which is already half covered by the oncoming clouds. It’s definitely not enough for Peter to see all the details on his face, only dark spots and shadows.

He wants to touch, but his suit is in the way.

“Because I want to kiss you,” Wade says simply and then he stills.

He doesn’t gasp, so that wasn’t an unfiltered mouth running. He really means it. And he looks like he’s prepared to be rejected, like he rehearsed the joke that would follow such a rejection. The more Peter waits, the faster Wade’s gaze becomes guarded.

“Okay,” he says, his palm still on Wade’s chest and Wade’s hands — gloveless — come up tentatively, pushing the mask out from beneath the hem of his suit and then up some more over his chin, mouth, nose— he stops there.

Peter’s head is clamoring with questions: why? Why now? Why do you want to kiss me? Is this an experiment? A joke? What do you want from me? Is this a weird kink? Bedding Spidey something on your bucket list?

So many questions and Wade’s lips press against his, soft, tentative, unsure, and Peter feels a pang of something beneath his ribcage, feels his heart stutter and then try to gallop out of his chest. He lets Wade set the pace. Push the kiss or keep it like this, delicate, savoring.

Why is Deadpool savoring Peter and not— mauling him? Pushing him down and ravishing him? Isn’t that how Deadpool goes through life? Recklessly, like a boulder through a wall? But maybe Wade and Deadpool don’t do things the same way. Just like Peter and Spider-Man don’t, either. 

His breath stutters on the inhale, Wade’s hand warm on his neck.

Peter’s impatience grows. Wade’s lips are plump and tempting in ways Peter didn’t know lips could be. So his other hand comes up and drags his mask all the way off just as he pushes forth and deepens the kiss, Wade’s gasp allowing his tongue inside.

Wade lets him push him down on an area where there isn’t much blood. He’s half on top of him, devouring his mouth like he’s been starving for it for months now. He wouldn’t know, but he might have been.

He’s kissing him until they’re both panting and gasping for air. Wade’s eyes widen when he looks up at Peter. He forgot to shave this morning, didn’t he? Of course he did. He overslept again, so he had to make a run for it to get to his job. He must look like death warmed over. Though Wade’s gaze roams over his face like he’s afraid he’ll forget it, so maybe Peter doesn’t look _ that _bad.

Which is good to know for a man’s ego. Peter’s ego, in particular. 

Wade’s lips are moist and open and Peter wants to redden them. But there’s a hand on his jaw, thumb stroking his prickly chin and Wade’s panting faster and faster, no doubt thinking of something dirty.

“Please fuck me,” Wade says, a whisper, a murmur, a croak of need so thick Peter feels his suit stretch some more around his groin. Because he also forgot to put in his protective cup.

“You sure?” 

Wade nods. Desperately.

* * *

“Stay still,” Peter growls, even as he wants to roll his eyes in pleasure at the way Wade pulls his hair with one hand while the other presses over the one Peter keeps on Wade’s inner thigh.

He swallows him again, hollowing his cheeks mercilessly and Wade _ howls, _hips pushing up involuntarily as Peter pushes back with his other hand. Wade moans, no doubt getting off on Peter’s strength and his cock twitches in his mouth as more pre-come leaks.

This would be the third orgasm Wade would have in just two hours. Peter came only once, Wade’s mouth a thing of wonder as Peter was encouraged to fuck his mouth as roughly as he could. He didn’t. Not as roughly as he could. Hurting Wade is not on any of Peter’s lists of things to do to the man now that they’ve agreed that mind-blowing sex is definitely the direction their relationship should move in.

It’s ten past four in the morning and Peter would need to wake up in two and a half hours to get to his job on time. 

He gave himself half an hour to slowly bring Wade to the edge again, drawing out an orgasm that didn’t want to come. Half an hour of sucking Wade off and of Wade pulling on his hair, of Peter being rock hard and leaking and enjoying the burn and the roiling orgasm pushing to find an outlet.

Wade comes within the next five minutes even if Peter wanted to tease some more. He doesn’t shout this time, though. Instead he groans like it’s painful to climax, like Peter worked him over the threshold of what he’s able to do. He pants, eyes closed, body limp and thigh muscles spasming. Peter caresses his inner thighs, swallowing the come and licking his lips.

Spider-Man doesn’t do things like Peter does.

He watches Wade’s chest rise and fall and his hunger only grows, but he also wants to give Wade a bit of a respite.

“Okay?” Peter rasps, and has to clear his throat.

Wade grabs the hand on his thigh and squeezes as a tired smile crests his lips.

“I’d return the favor if I could get up,” Wade pants, then, “actually I still can. Straddle me and fuck my mouth again.”

“How many kinks did we discover tonight?” Peter asks as he shuffles up over Wade’s torso, hard cock dripping onto his left nipple before it settles over his sternum and he watches almost mesmerized as the come slowly glides down into the hollow of Wade’s throat.

“I lost count after the hair pulling,” Wade rumbles, his gaze fastened on Peter’s cock as his hands come up over Peter’s soft belly, kneading softly.

If Peter had let Wade explore his body instead of fucking him until he couldn’t get up, then he’s pretty sure his prefered place would have been his flabby stomach. He’s still a bit self-conscious of it, so he gently pulls Wade’s hands into the pillow, bending down to kiss him.

Enthusiastically, Wade bites into his lower lip without drawing blood which makes him gasp and let Wade pull one hand free from Peter’s grip just to feel it envelop around his cock, spreading the pre-come all over it.

He moans into Wade’s mouth, hips thrusting erratically into the tight circle before he catches himself, recalling the plan he has for Wade. There’s a sort of _ pop _sound as Peter wrenches himself away from kissing Wade’s addicting mouth.

“No cheating,” he warns, but it’s without heat.

“Are you gonna punish me?”

“What’s the point of that if you love it?”

“Enthusiastic consent to use me however you want?”

Peter’s cock twitches at that, breath stuttering at the images piling up in his head. Wade’s smile grows, gaze becoming sultry.

“Another kink discovered,” Wade says gravelly.

Peter pushes the tip of his cock over his lips instead of answering, one hand on the pillow and the other against the wall. Wade looks up at him, eyelids at half mast as he gives Peter’s cock kitten licks, teasing him. And Peter loves _ every second _ of it.

Then Wade shuffles his arms under Peter’s thighs which pushes him up above Wade’s throat, his palms kneading at Peter’s ass, encouraging. Peter moans, more pre-come dirtying Wade’s lips. He has the presence of mind to rearrange the pillow so it supports Wade’s neck. He’s not sure he will be able to stop once he starts fucking his mouth.

His lips fasten over his tip, sucking softly and Peter pants above him, hips already working on their own. Little by little, Wade allows him in, guided in part by the palms on his ass, still kneading in that slow, insistent way as if he’s kneading Peter’s internal organs and Peter would be able to feel every single squeeze and be aroused by it. He actively keeps it slow because he enjoys the slow burn, the impatience deep in his gut to just get _ on with it already. _

Then he bottoms out and he stops, giving them both a break to just breathe. His hips wiggle a bit, then gyrate and Wade moans his assent, tongue moving along his length as much as it can which pulls a groan from Peter.

It’s not long before Peter pulls almost all the way out then he pushes in, faster than before, but still not fast enough. He does this for a while, letting the friction tease the orgasm some more, always stopping when he’s all the way in just to feel Wade suck him the best he can, before he starts fucking his mouth in earnest.

The pleasure builds and builds and Peter is chasing it spurred on by Wade’s debauched moans until he thrusts once, deep, and spills himself inside his throat, the palms on his ass so deliciously painful in their ferocious grip that Peter wishes the bruises will be there tomorrow.

They’re both panting and Peter slowly pulls out and off Wade to sprawl on the other side of the bed, cool sheets warmed up almost instantly from the heat of his sweaty skin.

“Best. Night. Ever,” Wade murmurs, probably unable to use his throat much considering how hard and mercilessly Peter fucked it.

He grins, unable to keep the chuckles at bay. Wade finds his hand and brings it to his mouth to press a long kiss to his knuckles.

The warmth that blooms inside Peter’s chest has him closing his eyes with probably the stupidest, most besotted smile on his face as he basks in the chemical soup that his brain released.

* * *

The smell of fried rice wafts from the kitchen when May opens her door. That and the familiar humming.

“Peter?” she asks as her mind goes from _ her _Peter to the other Peter.

She stops in the doorway to take in a Peter dressed in black sport pants and a blue t-shirt flicking his wrist as he mixes the rice with the vegetables.

She looks around the empty kitchen. “Where’s Miles?” And then ducks back out of the kitchen to take off her wet raincoat and hang it in the hallway. It’s seldom one boy without the other in her house or the basement.

“In school,” Peter calls. “At least I hope he is.”

“Didn’t he say that he had an exam this week?” 

She takes a seat, taking in the set table and raising an amused eyebrow at the slim turquoise vase cradling a single poppy flower. Is this Peter trying to dine and high her? The amusing thought is snuffed out by the warmth in his chest and the breeze of memories.

Soon enough, he turns off the stove and brings the wok to the table, two wooden spoons in it.

“I think he did,” he says, taking a seat opposite her and motioning for her to begin.

She does so and then Peter follows suit, a smile hanging about his lips. He digs in without giving her a second chance.

“There a reason why you decided to break into my house and cook me lunch?”

Peter chokes on his mouthful, needing to turn to the side and punch his chest to get the rice to dislodge from where it got caught in. She takes a half spoon and hums in approval at the perfect way the spices and vegetables and sauce blend in. This Peter doesn’t abuse curry like— like her Peter used to.

“No,” he says after he drinks half a glass of water, looking sheepish. “No reason. Just felt like it.”

She studies his face for a few seconds, his eyes shifty and almost apologetic, and decides to let him be. She’s hungry and the food tastes like love and care were poured into it. Peter’s mood can wait. 

The rhythmic fall of the rain on her window and the clink of spoons are the only sounds in the house for a while.

“Does your chirpy mood have anything to do with your man?”

He chokes again.

_ Boys. _

“No!” She waits, a serene look on her face as she scoops more rice with vegetables into her plate. “Maybe?” She waits some more; the chicken bits really fall apart on her tongue. “Okay, yes.”

“Something good happened between you two?”

She looks up when Peter doesn’t respond right away and there’s a flush on his cheeks, mostly covered by the beard he hasn’t shaved off yet.

_ Ah. _

“I hope you use protection.”

“We— uh— we don’t,” he says and looks like he’s prepared to receive a scolding.

Well. She studies him, spoon halfway to her mouth before she takes a bite. Her Peter hadn’t needed to be reminded of that because he was always worried that Mary Jane would catch something from him. She supposes that being intimate with another super— mercenary doesn’t bring about such troubles. After all, their immune systems worked differently than a human’s.

“Well, you’re both grown men,” she says, accepting the situation for what it is.

Peter gives her an odd look, like he can’t quite believe she’s letting him off the hook. She wants to laugh at this silly boy. Did he really come here to make sure he made the right decision? Was he expecting her to warn him about Wade? 

Is there anything she should warn him about Wade?

She isn’t sure. The visit she received from him had been— interesting. Wade’s not a man with all the ponies in the shed, but then again who is nowadays? And he didn’t give her bad vibes. Impossible to when he talked about Peter like he was the best thing since sliced bread.

Come to think of it, wasn’t Wade’s visit his way of asking for May’s permission?

The laugh is getting harder to keep in.

_ These boys. _

“I think— I—” He tries again, “I possibly, maybe— like him.”

She lifts an amused eyebrow. “Don’t you mean love him?”

He presses his lips. “Love is— too big a word for this,” he says quietly and May studies him.

This Peter has been alone a good part of his life. From what he told her, her alternate self died years ago and then he had the fallout with alternate MJ. Warmth suffuses her chest as she looks at the boy sitting across from her, plying her with food as if he needs to do anything in exchange for her time and words of comfort. 

As if— well, if he doesn’t do this, give something in return for May being there, in flesh and bone she might— 

“But you like him enough to come to talk to me,” she says gently and he glances up at her only to pull his attention back on his plate. “I don’t think you’d be this nervous talking about somebody you liked only on the surface.”

He’s silent for a long time. “I think I’m just scared this might turn out into a disaster like—” He presses his lips, eyes shifting sideways. “Like it happened with MJ.”

Her eyes soften. “Is that the feeling Wade gives you?”

“No? Maybe? I don’t know.” He exhales impatiently, letting his head fall back as he slouches in his chair.

“Maybe you’re overthinking this too much. Isn’t it too early for these worries?”

“But what if the thing I’m worried about the most comes to pass and I’ll be powerless to stop it? Or even prevent it? What if when I’m not looking—”

“Peter.” Her hand covers Peter’s on the table and he exhales shakily. She smiles kindly at him. It’s hard for her to see this Peter and her Peter as two separate beings in this moment. “You’re not alone in this relationship. You should talk about these things with Wade because whatever comfort or advice I can give you now probably won’t be what you need if you don’t talk it out with him. Tell him what you want from this relationship before things get too serious. You both need to know where each one stands and what each one wants from the other.”

Peter draws in a shaky breath. “Yeah… yeah, you’re right. I’ll talk to him.”

She smiles warmly, squeezing his hand and feeling him squeeze back before she resumes eating.

Peter ends up taking a nap on her couch as they watch Nat Geo and she crochets, for once, a red with black patterns sweater to give to Miles for Christmas. 

What’s Christmas without ugly sweaters?

She smiles like a villain with an evil plan in motion as she makes another loop.

* * *

Wade tackles him to the couch and snuggles him even if Peter pushes for other, more strenuous activities. He refuses which takes Peter by surprise.

“I want to cuddle you,” he says petulantly and Peter blinks at the frown on Wade’s face as if he’s prepared to fight Peter over this.

Peter pulls his hands back in surrender and Wade grins before he burrows his nose into his neck, breathing him in.

It’s a long cuddle session which sees them change positions and halfway through it Peter starts enjoying the weight, the strong arms looped over his middle, the little soft sounds escaping Wade as he nuzzles the back of his neck— even the way his hands can’t get enough of caressing Peter’s flabby stomach.

It was uncomfortable at first, always on the ready to move his hands whenever they strayed there. Wade never pushed, but he also never stopped trying to sneak towards that area until Peter simply gave up and let Wade have free movement across his body.

He also needs to talk to Wade about— important stuff. Like their relationship. Or whatever this is. They plunged head-first into it and neither stopped to put a name to it or even tell the other where they are on the scale from just acquaintances to soulmates through and through.

But not now.

Now he’s being cuddled by a needy Wade and he never knew how to be stern or stone cold hearted with such people.

The cuddle sessions happen more often than not and Peter thought he might miss the sex, but he actually does not? Is he getting old? Will his sex drive wither away and die like the brown in his beard and around his side-burns? He doesn’t voice his concerns to Wade, though, and maybe he shouldn’t keep things so close to his chest. Wade always seems happy to listen to whatever Peter wants to tell him and on more than one occasion he even offered sound advice which— threw Peter for a loop.

The cuddling and snuggling become his favorite skin-on-skin contact he has with Wade. On such nights he always ends up dragging a sleepy and uncooperative Wade to bed when the night grows long and Peter gets sleepy. He won’t make the same mistake of sleeping there even with a pliant and semi-comfortable Wade pancacked between his back and the couch.

Peter usually sleeps in a tee and his boxers, but Wade prefers to go commando, and he’s never _ not _cuddling Peter even when he’s deep asleep and Peter moves away to get more room.

But he’s not complaining.

Not when he wakes up in the morning hugging Wade to his chest as if he’s afraid someone might take him away from Peter. Wade’s always awake by then and sporting the most brilliant semi-sleepy grin Peter’s ever seen on anyone’s face.

That and morning wood.

Hey, when you get to have a gorgeous, naked man plastered to you the entire night you’re exempt from being judged for your body doing the most natural thing it could: answer the call of all that delicious warmth.

Their cocks are pressed together where Peter has a leg thrown over Wade’s thigh, not even one bit ashamed for having mastered the octopus impression down to a pat. Wade’s hand caresses his lower back under the tee in that sensual, almost ticklish way as he waits for Peter become fully awake and aware of what’s going on.

Peter is rock hard and rocking against Wade’s hips.

He’s surprised Wade hasn’t found his way to his ass yet. Surprised and a bit disappointed, but he’s already leaking through his boxers.

“Morning, sleepy Spidey,” Wade rumbles under his chin and his cock twitches.

Wade’s morning voice is a kink all unto its own. He pants as he moves his leg lower on Wade’s thigh, hips dragging against Wade’s as his breath hitches in his throat, teeth worrying softly at Peter’s neck.

“Yes,” he whispers, dragging the ‘s’ as Wade begins sucking a bruise there and his hips start chasing the building pleasure.

He drags Wade almost on top of him, a languid move, before he suddenly pushes Wade on his back and brackets his head with his forearms. Wade’s pupils are already blown wide and in the flimsy dawn glow he looks almost ethereal.

And tempting like a feast laid out on satin red, inviting him to partake.

Peter’s far from perfect, even if Wade always touches him as if he’s touching something holy, something he needs to revere and worship continuously. Whereas Peter always looks at Wade with hunger and lust and possessiveness.

Indeed, Peter B. Parker doesn’t do things like Spider-Man does.

“I’m gonna eat you,” Peter says, staring down at him.

“I’ll bring the sauce,” Wade chirps, already looking half-dazed from the continuous friction between their groins. Peter slows down, dragging it on.

He grins, and it must look as predatory and wolfish as he feels deep down.

“A different kind of eating this morning.”

_ “Fuck!” _

He kisses Wade like he really wants to devour him whole and Wade writhes against him when his hips almost stop moving, desperate for more friction, but Peter presses his hips down and Wade moans into his mouth. Peter leans back on his knees and spreads Wade’s legs as wide as he can before pushing them up so Wade’s ass is right there, ready for the taking.

Peter doesn’t waste time as he gets to work, laving his hole before he dips the tip of his tongue in. He works Wade open slowly, methodically, keeping Wade from writhing— much. His moans make his cock twitch in his boxers, but he continues, relentlessly even when Wade begs for him to _ just fuck me already. _

He doesn’t.

He fucks him with his tongue, instead, until his jaw is sore and his tongue mostly numb and Wade’s been leaking almost half of his orgasm on his stomach and Peter’s boxers are uncomfortably wet and sticky.

He suddenly straightens, making Wade gasp and then moves above him, Wade already dragging him down for a kiss, but Peter resists.

“Fuck me,” Peter says, a simple command, but one that comes with a lot of weight attached to it.

Wade stares at him in open shock, still panting, and Peter lets him see everything he needs to before determination falls over his face like a cloak over his shoulders and in a sudden burst of power (which he kept in check to let Peter have his way with him) he flips them over and Wade glides his entire body up against Peter to devour his mouth.

He takes hold of his cock, Peter thrusting up into the tight ring Wade’s fingers make as Wade almost bruises his lips by kissing Peter’s bearded jaw.

“Come for me.” He pants into Peter’s ear as Peter grunts and half-moans, almost lost in the sensation and the building pleasure in the pit of his stomach. “I want to fuck you back into an orgasm.”

Those words more than anything make Peter arch up, mouth open in a silent cry as he spills himself onto his stomach.

Wade doesn’t give him much time to come back to himself as he uses his come to thrust two fingers in and work him open.

“It’s gonna burn,” Wade says after he scissors Peter and adds more come, too impatient to get to the lube on the side-table.

_ “Yes!” _

He feels the tip of Wade’s cock push against his semi-loosened ring of muscles and as more of him enters Peter, he is stretched wider until more than the tip breaches him and he can breathe. Wade doesn’t stop until he bottoms out and they both pant like they’ve run a marathon.

He places a lingering kiss on Peter’s chest.

“Ready, baby boy?”

“Yes.”

At first, Wade moves slow, as if he’s afraid of hurting Peter. But Peter gets impatient rather fast so he pushes his hips up to meet Wade’s and Wade growls a warning.

“Let me do it.”

“Taking too long!” Peter gripes even as Wade’s eyes narrow.

Probably as punishment, he bottoms out and stays like that until Peter starts writhing again. Wade grabs his thighs and pushes his lower half up until Peter is bent in half.

They make eye contact and Wade’s looking at him with the kind of single-minded focus a sniper would look at his target or a cobra at her prey before striking. He gyrates his hips slowly, the tip of his cock touching lightly his prostate which makes his own half-spent cock twitch before Wade draws out and snaps his hips up suddenly.

Peter jolts, the moan cut completely in his throat so only a gasp comes out.

Wade smirks and continues the short, powerful snaps, fucking Peter hard and fast and not giving him time to choke more than half-grunts and moans and gasps because each time his prostate is teased, not enough to make him orgasm, but enough to make him feel as if he’s slowly going out of his mind.

Wade’s panting above him from the strain of keeping that brutal pace— or maybe he’s trying to keep his orgasm at bay until Peter climaxes again?

Either way Peter’s too distracted to find an answer to that as he feels his cock filling up incredibly fast. The squelch and slapping sounds of Wade’s hard balls against Peter’s ass are just making the orgasm pool in the pit of his stomach again, and before long, his hard cock is slapping against his stomach leaking pre-come as if it’s the first time he’s gotten this close.

It’s also painful, the building of this orgasm. He got used to the burn, made somewhat easier with the lube provided by Wade’s own pre-come. But the fast rhythm and the grazing of his prostate make Peter want to go out of his skin and mind, unable to pant properly or even moan.

Peter comes first, unable to take his eyes off of Wade’s pinched face, a sheen of sweat covering his brow, and before he even finishes spilling the meagre come in small splatters, Wade empties himself inside him with a deep groan.

It feels like it goes on and on for minutes before Wade can breathe again, his taut muscles relaxing slowly.

He cleans them up, even if Peter vies for a shower, but his bones are molasses under his skin and he doesn’t think Wade has the energy left in his body to keep them both up and wash them clean.

Peter wakes up hours later to pee and ends up taking a shower because there still is dried come on his front. As he feels Wade’s come dribble slowly along the inside of his thighs he realizes that he hasn’t talked to Wade yet. He keeps getting distracted.

Tomorrow, he promises himself.

Tomorrow.

* * *

Tomorrow he eats pancakes with maple syrup and Wade convinces him that they taste better if Peter eats them while sitting on his lap.

One grown-ass man sitting on another grown-ass man’s lap, eating pancakes and being nuzzled and hugged like his favorite teddy bear— if said teddy bear was a sentient being and could also fuck like Peter does.

The pancakes are sweet and filling and Wade’s brilliant smile makes Peter wonder about what he wanted to say. There was something important, he’s sure, but he can’t figure out what.

* * *

He doesn’t see Wade the next day, but he shrugs it off and patrols the city.

* * *

He perches atop the ledge of a building, scanning the area, Miles sitting at his side and eating his dinner.

Peter hasn’t felt much hunger lately, which is odd because he likes eating. Even the meals he enjoyed in the past tasted bland and he ordered them from the same places he always orders them.

“‘Sup?” Miles asks out of nowhere just as Peter zooms in on a group of boisterous people.

He leans an inch forward on the hand splayed on the side of the building, ready to take off if something degenerates. But it turns out they’re just drunk and soon the group parts ways.

“Thought something was gonna happen.”

Miles peers down, then takes another bite. “Not that,” he says, mouth full. “You.”

He takes out a folded napkin from his suit pocket and holds it out for Miles. Who knew that what he’d end up using his suit pockets for would be to carry napkins for a kid who talks with his mouth full.

Miles swallows and accepts the napkin.

“You’ve been on edge ever since we started swinging about,” Miles elaborates, then takes another huge bite from his double cheeseburger.

“Nothing important.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, not much happened tonight and I’ve been feeling restless lately.”

“‘Kay.” Miles shrugs and finishes his cheeseburger. “Door’s open if you wanna talk and I can help, you know, right?”

That makes Peter turn his head around to really look at Miles. 

“That’s so—”

“If the next word out of your mouth is ‘cute’ or ‘adorable’, I’m pushing you over the edge.”

Peter grins under the mask as Miles dusts his palms and gets up.

“One last swing before we call it a night?” Miles asks.

“Sure thing.”

* * *

Three weeks and two days pass and Peter has already made ample use of May’s tech to track Deadpool down. They find him in another dimension, and what they see— is something Peter doesn’t ever want to think about.

The only thing that stops Peter from shutting down the monitor and calling it a day is Wade’s pained gasps and words.

“Let me go. I’ve done everything you asked of me. Died a hundred times for you. Now let me go back. Two weeks. You promised.”

They have no means to open a portal and rescue Wade, so they’re forced to sit there and watch the scene unfold before their eyes. May cuts off the audio and by four AM Wade is let go and he disappears from the screen.

Peter’s eyes are bloodshot and dry as winter leaves. He needs to sleep and eat and shower and possibly take his brain out and never put it back in again because the thoughts that torment him right now won’t ever let him find peace in his dreams.

They never really talked about the thing between them. If there even was such a thing, but it’s hard for Peter to look back and not feel that something between them. Wade doesn’t fake stuff. He’s loud and obnoxious and annoying, but he doesn’t fake it if he doesn’t feel it.

Right?

That’s the impression he gave Peter. Was that, too, some kind of ruse?

Maybe he doesn’t want anything to do with Peter and that’s why he left this reality. Maybe what they had was really just sex and possibly a need to feel close to another human being for a while, and Peter had been the only one who thought it could be more. Who hoped.

God knows Peter sucked that comfort and warmth faster and harder than a damn leech. He doesn’t make excuses to himself: he’s been touch starved ever since things went cold between him and MJ.

He should have known that things between him and Wade fell into place way too easily. He should have seen this coming.

He’s simply not relationship material. That’s it. Who would want to be in a relationship with someone who leaves you cold in the middle of a date, who keeps secrets, who looks like age has already caught up to him and is flipping him off continuously?

Nobody.

Not even Wade, who, more or less, is in the same area as Peter.

Is Peter too old for dating? For forging a relationship? 

A warm, bony hand squeezes his shoulder where he’s been sitting and mulling over all those thoughts.

“Don’t jump the gun until he comes back.”

“What’s the point?” he asks morosely. “You saw what I saw. That speaks louder than his words ever will.”

“Peter,” she says gently. “You won’t know what’s going through his mind until you ask him. He didn’t sound like he was willingly taking part in that.”

Peter clenches his jaw. He’s a fucking grown-ass man. He can’t really have been swept off his damn feet by a mercenary only to be left falling on his ass. He can’t.

“This is what I get for letting feelings develop.”

“You’re not thinking straight.”

“On the contrary. I got the message.” He gets up. “It’s over. We’re done.” The headache is a monster throwing a tantrum against the bones of his skull.

“Peter,” Aunt May calls out as he heads for the exit, “talk things out with him.”

But Peter’s stubbornness is reigning supreme alongside the monster headache.

* * *

Peter doesn’t do things like Spider-Man does.

Wade comes to him.

In hindsight it shouldn’t have surprised Peter that much.

He comes and Peter throws himself off the ledge, unable to work through the knot in his throat at the relief and joy in which Wade wraps his name on his tongue.

* * *

They’re fighting. Actually, Peter is fighting and Deadpool jumps into the fray.

He quips sassy comebacks at the baddies, at Peter. Peter ignores him.

He trails after Peter like a puppy who’s been kicked, but still wants to be near his owner and waggle his tail and seek pets.

Peter’s foul mood festers inside his chest, it makes him become this ugly being and it hurts him as much as he sees on Wade’s face how it hurts him when he takes off from the roof he’s been sitting on the moment he hears Wade approach.

* * *

He doesn’t see Wade for the next several nights and he hates himself for the pang of guilt and hurt that’s shredding his chest from the inside out.

He hates himself for how he searches for the familiar red and black even as he fights with super-villains. He receives enough wounds for his distractions to make one think he’s learned his lesson.

(He hasn’t.)

Peter B. Parker doesn’t do things like Spider-Man does.

* * *

“Peter.” His voice cracks over the word and Peter pauses with the top of his mask bunched in his fist atop his head.

He presses his uncovered lips into a line then drags the mask back on.

“Spider-Man, if you’d be so _ kind.” _

“That’s nasty,” Wade comments as he steps closer. 

He knows he’s coming closer not because his boots make any sound on the carpet, but because the distance between his gravelly voice and Peter is not the same as before.

He wants to scream or snort or laugh until his throat bleeds when he looks over his shoulder and Wade’s looking straight at him, no mask between them. That scarred face sporting a plea so intense Peter has to turn his head back to stop staring at him.

That _ asshole _scarred face.

“Why are you avoiding me?” Wade asks, and he sounds both like he’s wrenching it out of himself and like he’s terrified of the answer.

“Tell me,” Peter says instead, not turning around, “was I an experiment to you? A wish on your bucket list?”

“What?”

“Just tell me. No need to mince your words. I can take it. Was sex with me just a way for you to kill time?”

“No, that’s never—”

“Or did you want to see how fast I’d fall for your pretty eyes?”

“Pretty— you think I have pretty eyes?”

Peter glares over his shoulder, but there’s nothing resembling amusement on Wade’s face. He’s genuinely surprised by that.

“Is this why you’ve been giving me the cold side of a chimichanga this week? You think— you think I was in just for the sex?”

Now Peter turns and even advances on Wade, feeling the ire sizzling beneath his skin.

“So you were.”

“Whoa! Don’t jump the fence, Dorothy! I never said that.” He actually backs away from Peter, hands raised. “I’m not sure what happened, but you’re waaaay off the mark. Like Jupiter off the mark.”

Peter narrows his eyes and crosses his arms. “Why did you come here? I’ve made it clear that I won’t stand to be taken for a fool.”

“Fool? Peter, what—”

“Get out, Wade.” 

“Why?” he asks, leaning forward as if he wants to take a step and even touch Peter. “I came here to find out what happened while I was gone and why you’re suddenly not talking to me.”

A sardonic smile, covered by his mask, curves his lips. “That’s just it, isn’t it? While you were gone.”

Wade studies him, trying to figure out stuff. “What aren’t you telling me, Peter?”

“So you’ve been busy these past couple of weeks,” Peter says idly, removing himself from within Wade’s grasp, feeling irrational and like Wade wronged him in a way that it cannot be forgiven. 

“Not by choice.” 

Peter snorts. Had he ever been this callous with MJ? Or rather, had they ever gotten into a spat like this? He doesn’t remember. His relationship with MJ had sailed smoothly for a while. Until it hadn’t.

“I’m not joking, baby boy.”

“Don’t.” He lifts a warning finger, now the corner of his bed between them, but Wade’s never been a believer in personal space. Not with Peter, so he strides up to him.

“I’m not,” he repeats, both determination and hurt crossing in quick succession on his face.

“So,” Peter says, a mocking tendril sneaking in with the word, not moving from where he stands because it would be futile. Wade would chase him anyway. “Were you ever gonna tell me about Death?”

Wade’s eyes widen a fraction and Peter seethes when he dips his head in shame. He’s grateful for the mask because he’s not sure the expression on his face is anything Spider-Man or Peter Parker ever wears— or is even able to bring forth. Once again, his feet carry him away from Wade.

But he doesn’t get far as Wade catches his wrist.

“Let me explain,” he croaks, “please.”

“What’s there to explain? I think that was as plain as daylight. You were— she was—” He exhales in frustration, the image painted behind his eyelids.

Wade exhales, too, but in resignation. “It was the last thing she asked me to do in exchange for her leaving me alone.”

Peter snorts. “Oh, yeah. Sure. Three _ weeks _ of being sexed up by the Goddess of Death. Nothing wrong with that. How does she even— she’s a _ skeleton.” _

Wade huffs. “You said ‘sexed up’.”

Peter turns his head and he knows his mask’s eyes are narrowed down because Wade’s stupidly gorgeous smile dims down and he returns to having that serious, determined look on his face again. 

“You don’t have sex with Death without dying at least once. And I can’t die, which is what she always liked about me.”

Peter snorts, but doesn’t look back at Wade even as Wade’s grip doesn’t lessen. “So what? You’re trying to tell me that you’re her toy?”

“For a very long time.” Peter tries to wrench his wrists from Wade and put that blessed distance between them again, but Wade won’t _ budge. _“Then I met you. And as clichè as that sounds, I wanted to end it with her.”

“Oh, so the dominatrix thing isn’t cutting it anymore for you? Wade, dammit, let me go!”

“It’s been fun for as long as it lasted, but she always kills me when I orgasm. Literally. And it’s always painful to come back because she never kills me the same way. And I’m tired of that. I’m tired of being used like that. She seldom gives cuddles, too, and I need them like air now. Not that she’s ever been good at cuddles what with all the bones going on beneath those robes.”

Peter stares at him, his fight _ whooshing _out of him just like that. He doesn’t see any mocking on his face, nothing but honesty.

“But I met you, Peter, and I never want to let you go.”

He narrows his eyes. “That’s… a bad bargain you’re making. I’m not immortal.”

Wade presses his lips together and Peter can practically say that he’s looking at himself in the mirror when his stubbornness assaults him.

“I know.”

“What makes you think she won’t come to hunt your ass down?”

“I made her sign a contract. A binding one. She can’t get near me, just as I can’t get near her.” Peter expels the breath he’s been holding. “I’m serious, Peter.”

He looks down at Wade’s gloved hand, the leather creaking everytime Peter moves and Wade adjust his hold minutely.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

It takes Wade by surprise. “I— I didn’t think I should.” Peter’s eyes narrow and Wade rushes to explain, “it all happened so suddenly. Us, I mean. I— half the time I was in denial that you’d even look at me that way, and the rest of the time I was in constant awe at how brilliant you are.” Then he looks sideways. “It’s not everyday that someone as gorgeous and perfect as you are, gives the time of his day to this charred piece of meat. I can’t think straight when I’m with you.”

Peter’s eyebrows almost climb into his hairline. “And apparently I can’t think straight when I’m not with you.”

Wade blinks at him and Peter feels his cheeks warm up. Doesn’t matter that there’s a mask covering his face, he still looks sideways. Wade steps up to him, a tentative smile trying to worm its way up.

“Where do we stand, Wade?”

“What do you mean?”

“This, between us. What is it? I’ve tried to figure it out on my own, but— it made me go in circles. I don’t know what else to do. Aunt May told me to—”

“We’re soulmates, obviously.”

Peter stares. “Sorry, what?”

“Soulmates,” Wade repeats like it’s the most common word in the world. “MFEO, Made For Each Other. Red string of fate. Fated. Destined. Whatever you want to call it. We wouldn’t have had so much mindblowing sex and divine cuddles in such quick succession without getting bored of each other. And I didn’t.” He pauses. “Unless you—”

“No,” he says. “No, I— there’s no chance in this reality or the next one that I could ever get tired of you.”

The look of pure joy that blooms on Wade’s face makes the maudlin words worth saying them. 

“That seals it!” He steps closer still, his chest almost pressed into Peter’s. He’s taller by a few inches than Wade— something he’s never took notice of before now. “Can I take off your mask, now? I want to ravish my Spidey.”

Peter goes to do that himself, but Wade catches his hand gently. “Let me. Pretty please with a cherry on top.”

Is that yet another kink? Why is their relationship full of silly kinks? Not that ass eating and hair pulling is silly. He lets Wade do the honors and he takes off his gloves to frame Peter’s face as he has to push himself on his tiptoes a bit.

“Fuck,” Wade whispers, breath fanning over Peter’s lips. “I definitely have a size kink.”

Peter huffs a laugh as he melts into Wade’s sturdy body, taking and giving the kiss they’ve been starving for.


End file.
